


Trying Out

by iolanthe_rosa



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iolanthe_rosa/pseuds/iolanthe_rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to feel blessed when you're feeling rejected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying Out

Dom stood on the sidewalk outside the casting office. It was early Spring, but it was hot, and the intense Los Angeles sun bouncing off the white stucco walls hurt his eyes. He took a deep breath and held it, idly studying his reflection in the black glass of the door to the office. He held the oxygen in his lungs until they began to burn, then exhaled and focused on the refreshing rush of air to his brain as he took another breath.   
  
Dom had studied every stress-control technique in the book since he had started auditioning years ago, and he had not found one that worked yet. He never liked auditioning, no actor did. But it had gotten worse since he had started actually wanting the jobs for which he was auditioning.   
  
Before Lord of the Rings, it had somehow not mattered so much. He went after whatever interested him: theater during breaks from Hetty, television for the BBC, voiceovers. It was about acting and earning a living then; it was just a job, a really wonderful, challenging, exciting job.   
  
Then he went through the long post-Lord of the Rings period, recovering from exhaustion, moving to Los Angeles, indulging himself in the other things he enjoyed besides acting: surfing, writing, going to concerts, but, most of all, just hanging with Elijah.   
  
But recently, a sort of uneasiness had come over Dom and he realized it was time to get back to work. He started reviewing scripts in earnest, and talking to his agent in Los Angeles.  
  
But something had changed.  
  
Now it wasn‚t about finding a job. Now it was about his "career," whatever that meant. Now it was about getting back into the rhythm of work after taking a long break. Now it was about proving to the world that he was more than a hobbit. Now it was about finding work from his new base in L.A. Now it was about maintaining his financial independence. Now it was about proving something to himself, only he wasn‚t sure what.  
  
A little dizzy from his deep breathing exercise, he opened the door and walked in. A young woman was seated behind a receptionist‚s desk. "Are you here for the "Crazy Streets" audition?" she smiled.  
  
"Yes. Dominic Monaghan."  
  
"Take a seat. The current candidate should be through in a moment."  
  
Dom sat down and concentrated very hard on not twitching. It was hard enough for him to sit still at the best of times, but it was sheer torture not to be allowed to move around when he felt nervous. If casting agents were humane people, they would install jungle gyms in their waiting rooms, he mused.  
  
He set about mentally preparing himself. He had liked the script. It wasn‚t perfect, but it was one of the better ones among the dozens that had crossed his desk in the past months. The character was a convenience store manager taken hostage by teenagers. At first he tries to escape, then instead becomes something of a big brother to the boys. There was a lot of tense dialogue in the store, and then a lot of action, and, most importantly, the story had heart. And it was to be filmed in Los Angeles, which meant he could still go home to Elijah at night.  
  
He was just beginning to wonder what it would feel like if all his internal organs were actually to explode, when the door opened. A man, about Dom‚s age walked into the waiting room. Dom assumed he was the actor whose audition was just completed. He tried to read his face for clues as to how it had gone. They made eye contact. Dom did not recognize him, but since Rings, he had learned to tell when he had been recognized, and he saw that spark of recognition flicker briefly in the larger man‚s eyes.  
  
"Good luck," the man said.  
  
"Thanks," said Dom.  
  
"You‚re going to fucking need it," he added. Without further explanation, he left the building.  
  
Cheerfully ignoring that exchange, the receptionist stood up and said, "You‚re next, Mr. Monaghan."   
  
She opened the door and Dom walked into the room. It was small and simply furnished with a table and some chairs. There were only two people in it: The director, unassuming in khakis and a polo shirt, and the casting director, a plump woman with a worried look on her face. Dom walked towards them to shake hands, but before he could complete the gesture, the director handed Dom a stack of 3x5 file cards.  
  
"Take any three from the stack," he said.  
  
Dom was taken aback by his abruptness. Usually some amount of time was spent trying to make the actor feel comfortable. He looked questioningly at the casting director. She continued to look worried, and now there was something else in her expression: apology?  
  
Dom had carefully schooled himself not to joke around during auditions. He was concerned about his image these days; he wanted to be taken seriously. So, repressing his instinct to lighten things up with a joke, he obediently removed three cards from the stack.  
  
"What do they say?" the director said.  
  
Dom turned each one over. "Jolly, Sexy, Lazy," he read.  
  
"Here‚s your script. You‚re Nick. I want you to deliver your lines jollysexylazy."  
  
A moment of white panic blanked Dom‚s mind, then the thought, *you‚ve got to be kidding me* flared. With great self-control, he forced that thought to stay inside his head.  
  
The director sat down, picked up his script, and read:  
  
"Give me your money!"  
  
Dom looked at his script. His line was, "Get the fuck out of here, motherfucker!"  
  
Jolly, sexy and lazy.  
  
His mind raced for some sort of model to work from. Who did he know who was jolly? Well, St. Nick, of course, but one could hardly call him sexy or lazy. Sydney Greenstreet in "The Maltese Falcon" flashed through his mind. He wasn‚t jolly exactly, but he was cheerful in an ironic sort of way, and, well, sexy was in the eye of the beholder, wasn‚t it? He was certainly sedentary, if not lazy. But how could he possibly deliver that line like Sydney Greenstreet? He would sound like an idiot. He could hardly believe that he was sitting there at that very moment actually trying to decide whether or not Sydney Greenstreet was sexy.  
  
In the split second it took for these thoughts to flash through his mind, Dom came to a decision: the task he had been given was impossible. He was going to read the line the way he had prepared for it.  
  
"Get the fuck out of here, motherfucker!" he yelled, fear combined with a little edgy courage, just the way he had pictured the character when he had read the script.  
  
The director frowned. "Take 3 more cards."  
  
Dom almost refused. Then he reminded himself how much he wanted the job, and took three more.  
  
Morbid, Cheerful, Arrogant  
  
He almost laughed out loud. This was the most ridiculous audition he had ever endured.   
  
"Give me your money!" the director prompted.  
  
"Get the fuck out of here, motherfucker!" Dom immediately spat back, anger in every syllable. He felt a hot flush of blood surge to his face. He could not believe he had been trapped into playing this game. He could not remember the last time he had felt so angry.  
  
The director did not look at Dom, but turned to the casting agent. "Next," he said flatly.  
  
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Monaghan," she said. "We‚ll call your agent soon." The note of apology in her voice was unmistakable.  
  
"That was it?" Dom asked.  
  
"Yes," she said.  
  
 _Fuck you_ he thought, proud of himself for not actually saying it. He was surprised his teeth hadn‚t shattered from the strain of holding those two words back. He walked out the door.  
  
Another young man was in the waiting room. He looked up at Dom, eyes searching Dom‚s face for a clue as to how it had gone.  
  
"Good luck," Dom said.  
  
"Thanks," said the man.  
  
Dom decided to do him a favor by not adding, "You‚re going to fucking need it."  
  
Back on the sidewalk, he stood for a moment and waited for his eyes to adjust to the blinding sunlight. Goddamned L.A. sun. What he wouldn‚t give for some Manchester gray right now. He instinctively reached for his cell phone. As he raised it to his ear, he noticed that his hands were shaking. Best to wait a few minutes to calm down before calling Elijah.   
  
He looked around. He was in North Hollywood, just off Ventura Boulevard, on a street lined with shops and small businesses. Right next to the casting office was a shoe store. Dom walked over and looked through the plate glass window at the seductive display. Right in front were some fantastic red leather trainers. They looked soft and comfortable and stylish. And red. Dom felt the soles of his feet itch. Shoes. Red shoes. Cool.  
  
 _Time for some retail therapy_ Dom thought, and walked in.  
  
****  
  
"Dom!" Elijah answered the cell. "How‚d it go?" he asked eagerly.  
  
"I‚ll tell you about it when I get home," Dom said. "Just wanted to let you know I was on my way."  
  
Elijah could tell from the flatness of his voice that it had not gone well. "Okay, baby. See you soon."  
  
Elijah was enjoying the sun on the patio. Dom had bought flats of flowers to plant in the bit of dirt next to it. It was an English thing, he said. He needed to plant something. Elijah admired the masses of marigolds and zinnias that were now shining like little starbursts at his feet. The sun heightened their hot colors; it almost hurt to look at them.  
  
Elijah's cell phone rang again. He looked at the number, hoping it was Dom again, then sighed: his agent. He knew what this was about. Taking a deep breath, he answered.  
  
"No."  
  
"Hi, Elijah!" said the voice at the other end.  
  
"No."  
  
"But -"  
  
"No."  
  
His agent was silent a moment, then said patiently, "I know you wanted - needed - a rest. I know you want to be choosy about your next role. But, Elijah, if you keep turning down parts, the parts are going to stop coming."  
  
"I‚ll take my chances." Elijah said, "You know I don‚t want another blockbuster. Call me when you have something better." Elijah saw Dom pull into the garage. "Gotta go," he said hurriedly and hung up. The last thing he wanted was for Dom to find out he was turning down a role in a good movie.  
  
Elijah tipped his face to the sky. He loved the feeling of the hot sun on his skin; for a fair person like himself, it was a forbidden pleasure, so of course he craved it. He was loving life. After the initial feeling of letdown when he returned home from filming, he had settled into a pleasurable pattern of light work and relaxation with Dom.   
  
"Ash Wednesday" and "Try 17" should have been fun projects, but looking back on them now, he wished he had not done either of them. He had felt pressure to work, to throw off the Frodo yoke as soon as he could. But his heart was not in it. His only memories of the short "Ash Wednesday" shoot were a confusing rush of blurry mental images, swear words, and a grey longing for Dom.   
  
"Try 17" had been fun at times, but it had been marred by the Franka Potente panic. Another act he now regretted with all his heart. He would never forgive himself for hurting Dom - and himself too, truth be told. As an actor, he was used to taking chances, used to risking embarrassment with the occasional bad performance or unfortunate piece of miscasting. But the humiliation of Franka was beyond anything an actor should have had to endure. And he blamed himself.  
  
After Franka, it was as if his spirit had flamed out. If he had been depressed when he returned from New Zealand, it was nothing compared to the bleak days following Franka. He and Dom went through their daily routine in a sort of shocked haze. Time passed. Then, one day, while idly admiring Dom‚s elegant fingers wrapped around a wet plastic cup at Jamba Juice, Elijah became aware that, somehow, he had healed. Moreover, he realized that his spirit had cyrstallized into something strong and hard and beautiful, something that would not be broken again.  
  
Dom saw the change in Elijah and he recognized it for what it was: he had grown up at last. Everything happens for a reason, Dom‚s mother always said. Yes, Elijah had been mature and responsible since he was a boy, but it had taken Franka Potente and New Line to finish the process. At last, Elijah had become his own man, ready to take charge of his destiny. Somehow, Dom realized, some good had come out of the whole Franka mess. Something really good.  
  
From that moment, Elijah started turning down work. His career lost what little reality it had had for him. He started letting himself have fun without feeling guilty about it. As soon as he let go of the guilt, he realized what fun was. He pursued his obsessions: music, movies, gaming, Dom. The knot of anxiety that he had carried around with him since he was a boy began to loosen. He indulged himself in small acts of rebellion with Dom as his willing ally. Fun. Fun was really, well, fun. He was going to have more of it.  
  
Dom seated himself next to Elijah. He placed his shopping bag on the patio by his feet.  
  
"What‚s that?" Elijah asked.  
  
"Just some stuff," Dom answered evasively. He had promised himself he would not wear the red shoes until he landed a part in a really great film. He had already secretly dubbed them The Red Trainers of Hope. "Are you wearing sunscreen?"  
  
"Yes," Elijah lied.  
  
"How long have you been out here?"  
  
"Just a couple minutes," he lied some more.  
  
"We should go inside. It‚s hot as fuck and you look flushed."   
  
"Dom" Elijah said, irritated. "Quit momming me. Tell me about the audition, then we‚ll go inside."  
  
Dom told Elijah the whole story, reluctantly at first, then, as his instinctive flair for story-telling took hold, he felt his sense of humor begin to return; the whole fiasco really was amusing on some pathetic level. In a few decades, when he had recovered from the humiliation, the story of that audition would be a great addition to his repertoire. By the time he finished, Elijah was laughing.   
  
"Poor Dommie," Elijah said, reaching over to take his hand. "What a fucking jerk. That‚s just so unbelievable. How‚s he ever going to cast anyone for the part?"  
  
"I don‚t know, maybe someone will be lucky enough to select Angry, Embarrassed, and Frustrated. If I had picked that, I‚d have been a shoo-in!"   
  
Dom sighed, lost in his thoughts. Now what? A failed audition, and he didn‚t have another on the horizon. He hadn‚t seen any more scripts he liked. A thread of anxiety needled in his gut. Where the fuck was his life going? What was he going to do? Nothing was making sense. He looked at Elijah; there he was, his anchor, sitting right next to him. So why did he feel like he was drifting?  
  
Elijah sat quietly with Dom for a few minutes, allowing him to be alone with his thoughts. Suddenly, he stood up.  
  
"I know what‚ll make you feel better!" he said. His face bright with mischief, he took Dom by the hand.   
  
"Come with me."  
  
Dom followed Elijah into the house.  
  
The sudden cool of the air-conditioned room washed over Dom. He felt more secure and protected now, out of the sun. He watched as Elijah seated himself on the couch, carefully folded his hands in his lap, and arranged his features into his patented Elijah Wood Face-of-Innocence.  
  
"How do you want me to play the scene, Mr. Monaghan?" he asked deferentially.  
  
"What?" Dom asked, confused.  
  
"What‚s my motivation, sir?"  
  
Realization dawned, and Dom grinned. He was always up for a bit of improv.  
  
"Just a minute." Dom grabbed some paper from the desk drawer and quickly scribbled on a few sheets. Turning back to Elijah, he handed them to him. "Choose any three from the stack," he directed sternly.  
  
As there were only three in Dom‚s hand, Elijah took them all.  
  
"Read them to me," Dom prompted.  
  
"Affectionate, Orally Fixated, Submissive." Elijah fought back a grin, "Oh, Mr. Monaghan!" he exclaimed in mock dismay. "I don‚t know if I can do this!"  
  
"Do you want the part or not?" Dom demanded.  
  
"Well..." Elijah‚s hands fluttered around the fly of his jeans. Watching Elijah‚s small hands with their bitten-down nails hovering over his crotch sent a familiar rush of blood to Dom‚s cock.  
  
"Well?" he growled.  
  
"Alright. Just this once. But I want you to know I‚ve _never_ done this with _anyone_ before," he asserted, with an expression that said just the opposite.  
  
Dom could hardly contain himself as Elijah peeled off his clothing, piece by piece. Soon he was standing naked in front of Dom, his cock slowly angling up, swelling under Dom‚s smoldering gaze.  
  
"What now, Mr. Monaghan?"  
  
Dom began to fumble with his own pants, hurriedly kicking them to the floor, along with his shirt, shoes, and socks. "The card says ŒOrally Fixated,‚ doesn‚t it?" he growled.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Monaghan," Elijah answered, a slight tremble in his voice. He dropped to his knees. Elijah loved sucking Dom. The fact was, he _was_ orally fixated, and having Dom in his mouth was much better for his health than smoking a cigarette. It was an act he had convinced himself he could actually feel virtuous about performing.  
  
He spent a minute admiring Dom‚s cock swaying and twitching next to his face, its lovely blend of dusky pinks and purples, the pale blue vein running up its length. Mmmm. Cock. He licked his lips.  
  
Elijah glanced up at Dom. Dom was watching Elijah, his mouth slightly open, anticipating the groan already building up inside him. Dom pressed the tip of his cock urgently against Elijah‚s cheek. "Show me what you can do," he said, struggling to sound commanding. It came out more like begging.   
  
Elijah set to work. He loved the sensation of Dom hardening in his mouth. Loved how Dom‚s cock became slick and slippery with his own saliva. Loved its twitches and thrusts in response to the things his mouth was doing. Loved feeling the familiar ridges and contours sliding along his lips and tongue. Loved drawing out moans and gasps and sighs from Dom. Loved the intimacy of face and groin. Loved giving pleasure to his mate.  
  
Dom‚s hands stroked Elijah‚s hair as he struggled to control his hips. Elijah was so good at this. Dom could already feel the heat radiating out from his cock to his fingertips. His toes had curled and were digging almost painfully into the carpet. He could feel the flush spreading from his chest to his neck to his face. So much sensation, so much pleasure. All his self-control was draining rapidly towards his groin.  
  
"Ah!" He pulled back, gasping. Oh God. "Hands and knees. Now!" he barked, falling to his knees himself. Unable to wait for Elijah, he started stroking himself.  
  
Dom was beyond rational thought, but Elijah had enough presence of mind to grab some lube from the desk drawer. He quickly batted Dom‚s hand away from his cock and coated it. Dom was so close to coming, Elijah had to be careful not to overstimulate him.  
  
Elijah quickly applied some lube to himself and positioned himself on all fours, backing into Dom. Dom pressed forward urgently and was soon deep inside, firmly gripping Elijah‚s white hip with one hand and stroking Elijah‚s cock with the other. Three deep thrusts, then a barrage of hard strokes, Elijah‚s back arched, his head thrown back in abandon, and they were both coming.  
  
Dom groaned and collapsed onto Elijah‚s back, then gently rolled them both onto their sides. Elijah sighed happily and pressed against Dom‚s chest, grinding his delicious ass into Dom‚s groin. Slowly, their breathing quieted and they settled into a sticky cuddle.  
  
Dom pulled Elijah tighter against himself. Could it be that the cuddling afterwards was actually better than the sex? Dom remembered reading in Cosmopolitan that most women preferred a good cuddle to sex; he couldn‚t help but think those Cosmo girls might be onto something. He reached over to the sofa and pulled down an afghan with which to cover themselves. Even cozier now, he buried his nose into Elijah‚s hair and breathed in the scent of the hot sun that still lingered there. He felt himself drifting.   
  
"So, do I get the part?" Elijah asked eagerly.   
  
Little bugger, Dom thought, how could he still be in character after what they had just done? He dragged himself back. "It‚s a difficult role to cast. I think you‚ll need a few more auditions before I can make a final decision."  
  
Elijah giggled. Sometimes Elijah‚s giggle was so beautiful it made Dom want to cry. He gave Elijah a squeeze, but didn‚t say anything. The memory of the day‚s events was coming back to him.  
  
Elijah felt the silence grow between them. He pressed Dom‚s arm against his chest. "You‚ll get a good part, Dom. I know you will. You‚re a really great actor."  
  
"I‚m not going to find anything in L.A. I never thought I would. I didn‚t come here to be a Hollywood actor." There was no rancor in his voice, no accusation. It was just a fact. Dom had made a sacrifice to be with Elijah and now he was facing the repercussions. He did not regret his move for a split second. "But if I start trying out for parts in England, I‚ll be away a lot. And if I actually get one, I might be away for months."  
  
"I know. We‚ll survive, Dom. We‚ve been through worse. Lots worse. Just do what you have to do."  
  
For the first time in weeks, Dom felt hope. England was his turf. He knew he would find something there. He thought of those red shoes in the bag, abandoned on the patio. He was going to be wearing them soon.


End file.
